


touch your skin (it's made of hyacinths and ivory)

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [93]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26327293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: gabriel longs, and longs, and longs - until he can'tlongany longer
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [93]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	touch your skin (it's made of hyacinths and ivory)

**Author's Note:**

> help it was my bday yesterday so im exhausted this is all i can write skskfnf

he's shaped like a doll.

soft-lipped and sweet as freshly whipped cream, aziraphale's silhouette is a garden bearing fruit. gabriel wants to reach out, wants to touch him so badly. the latest fashion tides swept by aristocratic men suit him finely, accentuated in long, lacy frills, and waist-cinched coats. calves on full display, they're thick and full and look utterly _delicious_ to grab hold of. his palms knot in lecherous pains as he keeps them by his sides, steadfast and unwavering.

(if only he were truly so.)

"if you're to keep disregarding my discipline, aziraphale, i'll have to take a cut from your celestial wages." gabriel grumbles, doing all he can to distract himself. "the very day after your reprimand, you were off in paris, miracling _what,_ exactly?"

aziraphale fidgets, doesn't look him in the eye. he goes up and down on his toes between nervous steps, so quick-witted, yet anxiously scramble brained to a fault.

"i suppose it doesn't matter, really." gabriel says, giving up on getting an answer out of him. "just - be good, won't you? if you need help with anything, even if it involves a miracle, you can pray for me. i've got an unlimited supply, of course."

aziraphale's eyes widen, like a fear struck doe's. "oh, but i, i wouldn't want to interrupt your - _very_ important duties, i'm sure. i'll just keep myself in check . . . "

and he moves like he's trying to get away, a rabbit slipping past the gums of a toothless snake, but gabriel doesn't let him. his fingers clamp onto aziraphale's wrist. they don't let go.

"i'm quite fond of you, you know." he blurts out, unable to stop himself. a train reared off its tracks, a car diving from left lane highway heaven to saltwater hell, he's incapable of slowing down. aziraphale looks at him like he's confessed to a murder, a hideous crime, and perhaps, perhaps he has. 

(he doesn't want to feel like this.)

"i-i'm fond of you too, sir. in a highly respecting, reverent sort of way." aziraphale stammers, doing all he can to avoid conflict, bypass even the slightest flaw that might encourage confrontation. gabriel cups him by his cheek, a thumb to trace the firm-boned architecture of his jaw. and he smiles, he _smiles._ it feels wrong.

"the way i feel about you, aziraphale," he mutters, low in his throat's depths, testing how quiet a voice can go before it's inaudible. "is anything but reverent."

aziraphale hesitates, aziraphale pauses, aziraphale _gasps_ -

because gabriel's wrenching him closer, pulling him off balance to fall loose in his embrace. their mouths don't truly meet, rather, gabriel makes a strong first impression with the crushing force of his desperate, demanding lips. teeth crashing against tender, swollen skin, leaving it marred with bruises sweet and dark, the color of blackberries. he almost wants to bite down against them, savor the ripe, gushing fruit that he might receive.

but aziraphale holds onto him then, arms around his shoulders, drawn up on his toes, and there's little he can do but be gentle with him. licking into a golden mouth, feeling a tongue that tastes like how warm, wet rain on a summer's evening feels. how cicada songs sound, all chirping in harmony. he loves him, he loves him, more and more with every touch. he grazes over the roof of aziraphale's mouth, and the _moan_ that follows - oh, it's just as wrecked as he'd always hoped it might be.

when aziraphale breaks the intimacy, it's gabriel's wrist he grasps hold of. really, in good faith, how can gabriel be blamed for following him wherever the night may lead?

**Author's Note:**

> aw yeah hes gonna get that [ redacted content ]


End file.
